


Seeing Everything Anew

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: “So many things in this world are only variations on the same handful of themes. To discover something new…” His hand seems to lift of its own accord, fingers brushing the arch of Jon’s cheek. Resting there, as he watches Jon shake with the effort of not leaning in further, taking what they both desire. “It’s special. Thrilling, even. It’s why I came to work at this Institute. To see things I had never seen. To know what no one has ever known.”Elias chooses an Archivist, finds so much more.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 9
Kudos: 172
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Seeing Everything Anew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/gifts).



It is Wednesday afternoon, and Jon shouldn’t be in Elias’s office.

Normally, Elias would’ve sent anyone who lingered past their appointed time on their way with a curt reminder of the importance of sticking to schedules, and a pointed look at the clock. And Jon, as lacking as he is in certain social graces, is hardly oblivious to such reminders.

But when Elias clears his throat, and Jon looks at him from where he’s standing by the tall oak bookcase, the words Elias speaks are not ones of censure. Instead, he smiles and stands, crossing the thick woolen rug with barely a sound to stand behind Jon. Too close, and still Jon sways closer, shivering when Elias’s breath caresses his neck.

Then he finds himself, coughs and steps away. Elias doesn’t comment on it, instead pulling a book from the shelf and handing it to Jon. When their hands brush, he notices Jon start, tugging the book away too abruptly, leafing through its pages as if that will cover the flush of his cheeks. As if it will quiet the heat coursing through his veins, a heat matched only by the one that has ignited along the tips of Elias’s fingers.

When Jon finally looks up, there’s a small smile on his lips. Elias raises his brows in silent inquiry, even as memories not his own already push against the edge of his consciousness. 

“I’ve read it before.”

A child sits on the floor in a room soaked in sunlight. The book he reads is dull but still he is caught in the dark hooks of the words, fingers tracing sentences and ideas that he savors, and ruthlessly discards.

“Really? I wasn’t aware you had such a keen interest in management before taking this position.” Elias steps closer, and the press on his mind increases to an almost painful intensity. And then he steps closer again.

“Oh, no.” He laughs softly, and this time, it is Elias who sways towards him. “I didn’t. I actually read it as a child.”

The book’s contents don’t matter. There will be others, so many more and still he reads, each one soaking into his mind, filling it as it has never been filled before.

“A rather unusual choice.”

“It wasn’t a choice, exactly. When I was young, I loved to read, but I hated…” He trails off, staring into the distance, memory sharpening enough to cut.

It should all be meaningless. For all the hopes Elias had for him, he was chosen because he was marked. Not because he was exceptional. Not for any reason at all. But Elias finds he can’t tear himself away, though he’s tried more than once to extract himself from whatever binding has settled over him. Try as he might, all he can do is wait for those eyes to return to his, the strike of flint on steel as they lock again.

“It’s hard to describe. But I guess I’d say I hated reading anything I felt like I’d read before.” He laughs again, this time sounding sheepish. “I was a rather strange child, I’ll admit. It resulted in some rather idiosyncratic reading material.”

The memories begin to fade, and silence falls between them. Jon looks at him expectantly, but Elias doesn’t think he knows what he wants. For Elias to send him away, to dismiss this closeness that has wound its way between them, ever since the day Jon was made Archivist? Or to acknowledge it, admitting a weakness with no reason for it. A crack in his carefully constructed facade.

Finally, Jon can bear it no longer. He sets the book aside, and clears his throat. Tugging at his shirt while he tries to pretend this is nothing more than an awkward silence. While Elias struggles to articulate a feeling he buried without realizing it, stained and worn but not yet entirely forgotten.

“Well, I should be—“

“I know what you mean,” Elias says.

The words are a surprise to Jon, and Elias as well. Some form of compelling? But Jon didn’t ask a question, and it’s far too soon. Regardless, Elias continues, reaching out to grasp Jon’s shoulder, to drink in the way he trembles at Elias’s touch.

“So many things in this world are only variations on the same handful of themes. To discover something new…” His hand seems to lift of its own accord, fingers brushing the arch of Jon’s cheek. Resting there, as he watches Jon shake with the effort of not leaning in further, taking what they both desire. “It’s special. Thrilling, even. It’s why I came to work at this Institute. To see things I had never seen. To know what no one has ever known.”

“How has that worked out for you?” He smiles, as if they’re sharing another joke. But underneath, Elias feels the singularity of his desire for the truth. For the knowledge he desperately needs. An answer that Elias yearns to give.

“Quite satisfactorily, at first. But after a time, I admit, even the bizarre and sinister can start to seem almost mundane. Inhabit one role long enough, and it can all start to feel a bit old.” He laughs, and almost wishes he could share the joke. “But there is a certain comfort in the certainty of routine.”

“What would you do if you did find something new? Something to surprise you?”

The pull is nearly irresistible. To spill his secrets gladly, to fill Jon with them. And worse, to be filled with everything Jon is and was and will be, to know what is it to live and see and become anew. Impossible, undesirable, and utterly undeniable.

“An excellent question.” He returns to his seat behind his desk, and knows Jon has noticed the shaking in his hands. “Can I expect you the same time next week?”

* * *

The disruptions to his schedule are small but constant. A back aching from a bad mattress he would’ve discarded. The sensation of scalding water splashed across his hand. And through it all, the low thrum of terror, keenly felt in a way only one who does not yet truly know can.

It is overwhelming, and worst of all, it hasn’t passed unnoticed. When he yawns for the third time in a meeting with the administrative staff, Rosie actually asks after health. He dissembles, of course. Thanks her for her kindness, and says he’s been busy, that he’ll catch up on sleep over the weekend. It isn’t even a lie. Jon does sleep better on the weekends.

Through it all, Elias searches, through books and memories and hundreds of eyes that were never his, that feel hollow and false compared to Jon’s. Their thoughts are stale, experiences he’s known a thousand times before. There is nothing new about this feeling, except in how it contrasts with the intensity of everything Jon is, everything he feels, everything Elias feels entwined with him.

And he finds nothing. Oh, there are hints of similar connections, bonds forged through ritual and blood and bone and flesh and skin and web. But they too are lacking, the colors washed out and the edges frayed, blurred by the remove of other eyes. 

It is this thought that brings up to Jon a few weeks later, after Jon disrupts his schedule yet again. It’s the sort of thing Elias would ordinarily correct with an email. After all, he knows why Jon missed their meeting. Knows that he hasn’t been sleeping well, that it’s brought him to this fitful rest with his head pillowed on his desk. Hair in disarray, and eyes darting under the thin cover of their lids, desperately trying to see all the horrors his dreams bring, to know what he cannot yet understand.

And Elias aches with the deprivation this strange curse has brought him. Beyond any ordinary desire, easily subsumed with the monotony of duty and the determination of a goal long planned that might be soon achieved. He would call it an itch, to borrow a feeling that has never belonged to him. A humming in his blood that can only be quieted by the connection of skin. The bright terror of eyes that do not yet belong fully to him. That belong to him more than any eyes ever have.

“A distraction,” he murmurs, as he stands over Jon’s desk, fingers gentle across his hair. So light Jon can’t possibly feel it, but he stirs all the same. As he always does, when Elias is near. He presses into the touch, fitting his head to Elias’s palm, sending sharp needles into his skin, making him want to thread them with the soft strands of Jon’s hair.

But he doesn’t. Slowly, painfully, he pulls away, forcing his hand into his pocket, where it tingles still. Focusing on Jon’s unguarded expression, at the need mirroring his own on Jon’s face, the terror of longing in his eyes. For a thing neither of them understand, a connection forged between them at the offer of a job, and sealed with the shaking of hands.

He didn’t want this. But he did choose it. Chose Jon. And as Jon gets to his feet, babbling an apology, he finds it hard to regret.

“It’s fine,” he replies, once Jon finishes. Watching as Jon drags a hand through his own hair, where Elias had so recently been.

With the formality lost between them, the obligations provided by hierarchy and tradition, there is only silence, and the growing awareness that is increasingly impossible to avoid. Elias knows Jon’s dreams are growing strange, knows his fear is barely suppressed, knows he both feels he isn’t suited to this job and is the only one who can do it. And he is right.

And he knows that the same thing that drives him to step towards Jon is what pushes Jon away. He has not yet grown accustomed to fear, to the dizzying heights and the nauseating depths. It is still fresh, sharp along his mind. Enough to crush some of the eager curiosity underneath.

But not all of it.

“Is there something else you wanted?”

Yes, Elias almost says. Your fear. Your hunger. Your mind, still bright with terror. Your eyes, seeing everything anew.

“No, not right now.” He steps back. “I simply came down to check on you because I was surprised by your absence.”

There will be an eternity of time. Jon isn’t ready.

“Elias?”

Jon moves closer, dares to put a hand light on his elbow. His eyes are so bright as he looks at Elias. Wide and hungry enough for Elias to be consumed in their depths.

“Yes?” His voice is steady. He’s had so much practice maintaining his composure, his resolve. Why would he break for something this small? How could he not break, for something he could not, cannot, still does not have a plan for?

“Is there anything…else?”

Jon’s hand tightens, and Elias finds himself leaning closer. Wanting contact, wanting connection. Terror, as he has not known it for so long. And the terrible ecstasy that comes with it. Does he also want Jon? It hardly matters.

“Do come see me. Whenever you have the chance.”

* * *

Jon is late, and Elias waits, watching the seconds tick by on the clock. It’s strange, to not look. But to feel the catch of battered Oxfords on the polished floor, a hand pressed flat against the wall as Jon rights himself, and forcibly stills his breath. He does not see the way Jon smooths down his shirt, straightens his collar, or the nervous rhythm of his pulse at his throat. Nor does he watch as Jon restrains himself from dashing down the corridor.

But he has already stood when Jon knocks on his door.

There is no need to open it, no need to grasp Jon’s elbow, to guide him towards a seat, but Elias is long past clinging to the certainty of decorum. Even through the thin fabric of his cardigan, Elias can feel the heat of him, the way it flares as he looks up to finally meet Elias’s eyes. And then, Elias sees.

“Still not sleeping well?”

“No.” He doesn’t take the seat, scrubbing a hand over tired eyes. “And it’s not even Prentiss. Well. A bit that, but my dreams—” He shakes his head, trying to dispel what has already taken root. “It’s nothing.”

“Please, tell me.” He needs to hear the words, the familiar made strange on Jon’s lips, the steps walked anew.

“I see things. Almost…memories? A forest blanketed in snow. A book. I think it might be a Leitner, but I don’t know how I know that. And the name doesn’t quite fit. And some sort of structure. Circular, with a tower at its center. With rooms around it, or maybe cells? There are people screaming, and then I’m screaming, and then…”

Before he is Elias, he screams as well, until his throat is raw and his eyes are bloody. And still longer, until there is nothing left except one question.

“What do you see?”

Jon meets his eyes, and Elias’s hand slips to his wrist, then his hand, mapping out the lines of his palm. There is nothing to read there. And still beneath that thin layer, he finds what he seeks.

“Everything,” Jon says, locked with Elias, breathless and beautiful. 

As the silence stretches between them, the rictus of memory binds them together, Elias almost breaks. But instead he holds, and wonders if Jon might yet be a creature of the Web, to have entangled Elias so thoroughly.

“It’s probably nothing,” Jon says, ducking his head. “Just stress.”

“It isn’t nothing.” With a reluctance that almost seems normal now, he lets Jon go, cross the room to open the book already on his desk.

Jon follows, and Elias steps aside to allow him to see. Waiting a moment, watching him touch the page in wonder before drawing closer again, his chest against Jon’s back. Pressing so close he can feel the terror of recognition radiating from Jon’s trembling muscles, can almost breathe in his slight gasp.

“That’s—”

“The Panopticon.”

“I think I remember it. Tim was talking about it. Old Millbank Prison was based on the design, wasn’t it?” He cranes his neck, trying to meet Elias’s eyes, flushed with the thrill of discovery.

Elias smiles, steps back a bit to brush hair out of Jon’s face, letting his hand linger on his warm cheek. “In part, yes.”

“Maybe that’s it.” Jon answers the smile with one of his own, comfortable with the touch in a way he rarely is, in a way his mind shies away from knowing. “It’s strange, the things that can worm their way into your dreams.” He laughs ruefully. “Poor choice of words. I definitely prefer this to worms. Certainly seen enough of those, lately.”

“Quite.”

“You know, if someone came to me with a statement like that, I would’ve dismissed it immediately. But I guess it goes to show how real something can feel, when you’re the one experiencing it.”

He could let Jon go. Should let Jon go, to retreat into his comfortable lies. Better that he not know too much too soon. Better that he not think Elias anything more than a dull bureaucrat.

Jon gaze has drifted back to the book, his finger dragging along the page. Searching for answers not contained between the mouldering pages of a book. As eager as he is to hide from himself, he already can’t deny the need. To seek, to discover.

“Reading something you haven’t read before.”

“What?” He glances between the book and Elias in confusion. “I guess that’s true. I can’t believe you remember that. But really, it was more of a childhood thing.”

“Are you sure?” Elias’s hand is on Jon’s waist, slipping under his shirt to press against his stomach.

“Elias.” He gasps, and Elias can barely stop himself from gasping with Jon. “What are you doing?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Jon swallows, eyes darting around the room. As if there is anywhere else he could look. “It’s—it’s hardly appropriate.”

His hand moves higher, flat over Jon’s pounding heart. Matching the tempo of his own. Of their own, for Elias is no longer certain there is any difference between them, minds and bodies merging into a terrifying whole.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Jon tilts his head back to look at Elias, finally meeting his eyes. The angle is awkward, and all the better for it, highlighting as it does the column of Jon’s neck. Another stretch of skin, waiting for Elias’s touch. He no longer resists, dipping his head to taste Jon’s pulse, the bob of his throat, the salt on his skin.

“I—” Jon swallows again. “No. No, I don’t. What’s happening to me?” He lifts a hand to clasp Elias’s, still over his heart.

“To us.” Elias’s lips brush the corner of his mouth, so close to tasting all that he desires. “And I don’t know. But I want to find out.”

The clock ticks, their hearts beat. His fingers stroke along Jon’s throat, as he waits for the words he’s already felt. Until, finally, Jon speaks.

“I’m scared, Elias.”

There is no sweeter confession he could have made. And so Elias finally brings their lips together, drinking in the noises Jon makes, the sensation that spreads between them as Jon tries to twist to face him, and Elias holds him still. Showing him what they are meant to be, as Jon relaxes, and Elias pulls back, to look out of his dazed and wondering eyes. For he has his own confession to make.

“For the first time in a long time, so am I.”


End file.
